Dramatic Aside Novels & Stories

I hid in the balcony seats, tucked behind the velvet curtain as he stepped into the center of the abandoned stage. Spotlights flickered on. And Lucas’s voice echoed from the sound system. “Bravo, Adrian. Right on cue.” Then the man himself emerged from the orchestra pit, hands in his coat pockets, as casual as if they were meeting for coffee. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic,” Adrian said dryly. Lucas grinned. “Says the man standing in a ghost theater.” Adrian raised his hand. “Let’s end it.” Lucas tilted his head. “And how do you want it to end, brother? With blood? Or truth?”

Asmo made his way down the stairs, his footsteps muffled by the thunderous applause that erupted as Maria's performance reached its crescendo. As he neared the stage, he could feel the tension in the air, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Asmo knew he had to act quickly, but he couldn't risk disrupting the performance or causing a panic among the audience. He had to find a way to neutralize the threat without drawing unwanted attention but just as he reached where he last saw the figure it seemed to have vanished or maybe it was all made up by his mind.

The shadows deepened, and the colosseum held its breath, anticipating the dramatic twists that loomed on the horizon. Dracius, the seasoned master of ceremonies in the colosseum, raised his hand, signaling for Alcides to step forward to the center of the arena. The boy, grappling with the realization of his fate, moved hesitantly, his eyes meeting Dracius's stern gaze.

Precise. A gesture. I smiled up at him, warm and practiced. I knew this one by now. Script acknowledged. Scene maintained. We stayed beside Evelyn until her breathing deepened, until her fingers loosened around his, until the moment passed where she needed us conscious. “She’s asleep,” Adrian said quietly. We left the room together. The sitting area was dim, lamps low, the house settling into night. He stopped near the window, hands in his pockets, his posture closed again, emotion sealed away.

I’ll deal with her another time, she won’t be going anywhere. Ash looked at me, and I gave a small nod. “Let’s both,” he said, tearing off a match and striking it. Athena repeated the gesture as the female screamed and pleaded. Godfrey appeared next to me and clapped his hands. “I’m in time for the second act,” he said, as Diana fell next to him, out of nowhere. “No second act,” I said, as the flames roared, the fire quickly igniting Amaal’s dress. “Just the finale. The curtain call,” I said, as I threw my arm around Sebby.

“Dream…” “Step away from him.” He hesitated, his fingers lowering slowly. He didn’t move. “Dream, please don’t do this,” he whispered. “Please don’t send me away. This is exactly what Adrian wants. He wants you to doubt me. He wants you to get confused. Look at him. He’s acting.” Adrian let out a soft whimper, curling deeper into his dramatics. I closed my eyes for a moment. Just a moment. My thoughts worked fast, one after the other.

She shivered, a cold feeling creeping up her spine. Then she shook her head, a violent gesture of defiance. No. She wasn’t afraid. She was awake. And she wasn’t going to let fear dictate her life, not anymore. She opened the script. The pages felt heavy in her hands, full of a strange, magnetic energy. Page one. > FADE IN. > INT. ABANDONED THEATER – NIGHT > A single spotlight cuts through the darkness. Dust floats in the air like ghosts. > AMARA (30s), elegant, haunted, steps into the light. She wears a wedding dress—torn, stained, but still beautiful.

In a moment of theatrical flair, Hera seized the microphone, commanding attention with a single gesture. “Hello everyone!” She called out. “Please give me all your attention.” The music abruptly ceased, leaving a lingering echo of silence that hung in the air, charged with suspense and curiosity. The room fell into a hushed anticipation, like a collective breath held in anticipation of Hera's next move. Lisa's heart sank as she instinctively moved away from Adrien, her steps carrying her toward the source of the unfolding spectacle. A mixture of confusion, anxiety, and dread swirled within her as she braced herself for the storm of words about to be unleashed.

Third Person POV The door clicked shut behind Diana, and with the echo still lingering, Evelyn Marris drew in another long pull of her cigarette. Smoke curled from her lips in thin ribbons, dissolving into the low light of the room. “Well?” she asked lazily. “How was my performance?” Gordon stepped out from behind the cardboard panels that had disguised the rest of the space. With one swift motion, he pushed them aside, revealing a far larger room, the true staging ground of the evening’s deception.

Tamsin darted in and hurled her lead script again; it burst into a flurry of stage directions and cues, swarming the creature’s face. For a few precious seconds, its ink‑eyes were obscured by a blizzard of words like ENTER and EXIT and BREAK HERE, chains flailing blind. All the while, on a toppled shelf some distance off, Selene watched. She stood balanced on its edge like a bored goddess, one heel digging into a spine, hair whipping around her face as the graveyard’s air currents tore at loose pages. Her eyes weren’t bored. They were fixed on me and the way the world was obeying—partially, messily, reluctantly—but obeying.